


halves of one

by cool_pineapple, hardcovermanuscript, oikaywas (aureations), Sotong_sotong, thir13enth, tunakichis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Outsider, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cool_pineapple/pseuds/cool_pineapple, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardcovermanuscript/pseuds/hardcovermanuscript, https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureations/pseuds/oikaywas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sotong_sotong/pseuds/Sotong_sotong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunakichis/pseuds/tunakichis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Iwaoi's entry for SASO 2016 Main Round 1</p><blockquote>
  <p>one's not half two. it's two are halves of one - e. e. cummings</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	halves of one

**Author's Note:**

> Art Credits:  
> Images 1, 2, 3: [Jess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tunakichis) @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/tunakichis) | [tumblr](http://tunakichi.co.vu/)  
> Images 4, 5: [Kami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cool_pineapple) @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/kamrinsomething) | [tumblr](http://thefinalfronturl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Writing Credits:  
> Parts 1 & 7: [ambivia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivia) @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/ambivia) | [tumblr](http://ambivia.tumblr.com)  
> Part 2: [Aly ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hardcovermanuscript)@ [twitter](https://twitter.com/shiroganei) | [tumblr](http://urochako.tumblr.com/)  
> Part 3: [Serena](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sotong_sotong) @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/sotongsardintin) | [tumblr](http://sotong2.tumblr.com)  
> Part 4: [Cat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth) @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/napsbeforesleep) | [tumblr](http://ahumanintraining.tumblr.com)  
> Parts 5 & 6: [Kay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oikaywas) @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/oikaywas) | [tumblr](http://oikaywas.tumblr.com)  
> Editing credits: Kay, ambivia
> 
> Click through images for hi-res
> 
> Glossary:  
>  _Tenin-san_ : a term generally referring to shopkeepers or store clerks in Japan  
>  _senpai_ : upperclassman

 

 

 

 

[](http://i.imgur.com/uMcG8w0.jpg)   
  
  
  
  


You lean back in your seat, watching Oikawa grin at the selfie he just took to commemorate Iwaizumi’s arrival.

He sends a smirk around the table. “It’s satisfactory.”

  


Iwaizumi snorts. “I should think so.” Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him in that way he has, scrunching up his nose; and Iwaizumi barely sparing him a sneer, swings into his seat and greets everyone.

  


The exchange barely lasts three seconds but it leaves you with that soft feeling of alienation you always get watching their interactions. You know Iwaizumi through work, but this is only the third time you’re meeting Oikawa, at a friends’ dinner Iwaizumi insisted you tag along to.

  


Did he mean selfies are stupid? That Oikawa was wasting time? Or that his looks guaranteed a good picture? All you know is Iwaizumi is adept at shielding compliments within insults, and they’ve been together so long half their conversation doesn’t need saying; all you see is Oikawa’s light blush, and the angle of their arms, hands held under the table.

  


“Sorry I’m late,” Iwaizumi is saying, shrugging off his coat. “What are we having, yakiniku? Beef for me, please–”

  


“Because Iwa-chan is a _beefy_ caveman.”

  


“—do we have any Korean cabbage? Thanks–” he grins at you as you hand him a bowl, and then turns to Oikawa “–don’t pretend you don’t love it–” and then he’s back to you, with Oikawa pointedly looking away, pout pleased and flustered “–I’m starving, the boss had me running between offices for half the damn day, can you believe?”

  


The conversation around the table returns with a hearty laugh at Iwaizumi’s expense. But as you grill up a lean strip of beef, you find yourself semi-mesmerised as the two of them fall back into each other.

  


You don’t know what you were expecting when Iwaizumi first mentioned his… Boyfriend? Lover? Best friend? The words feel flimsy when you try to apply them to the pair sitting across from you.

  


Iwaizumi quietly murmurs to Oikawa, “Here, for you,” as he hands him a bag you didn’t notice he brought. Oikawa peeks in, and lights up, soft as anything. “Iwa-chan, you didn’t have to~”

  


You watch as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at him and Oikawa retort back, dry remarks flying between them, almost acidic, but somehow still fond, Oikawa pressing a small kiss into Iwaizumi’s cheek, quiet and subtle.

  


This is what they’re like, you’ve learned. Teasing against seriousness, kind when the other doesn’t ask, smiles and sneers all packaged together. You’ve laughed as Oikawa annoys Iwaizumi into a temper, as Iwaizumi cuts Oikawa’s ego down with a deadpan quip so fast and harsh it leaves everyone else reeling; you've heard how intrinsic a part of Iwaizumi’s life Oikawa is, seen first-hand how one can barely tell a story without mentioning the other, and yet you _wonder_. 

  


Because why would childhood friends clearly at such odds with one another stick together like glue?

  


Your eyes narrow when Oikawa gently prods at Iwaizumi with his chopsticks. They shouldn’t _work_. So how do they?

  


“Um…” You start out of your thoughts to see Oikawa frowning at you. “You’re burning it.”

  


“Shit–!” You flick the charred meat off the grill hastily, your friend's laughter sounding around the table.

  


“Someone got distracted.”

  


“Nice one~”

  


But Iwaizumi catches your eye, and mildly cocks an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  


“Yeah, I’m fine, but I was just wondering,” you find yourself blurting out, mouth ahead of mind, “how you two stand each other?”

  


This catches him by surprise. “Eh?”

  


“What do you mean?” Oikawa leans forward with a curious smile.

  


“No, it’s just, uh–” You clear your throat, embarrassed. But from the looks of everyone else, you can guess you’ve hit the nail on the head – that everyone else was wondering it too. You glance pointedly between two men sitting opposite you, and ask the question that’s been bugging you since you first saw them together.

  


“How did this even happen? Don’t get me wrong, you guys seem really happy together, it’s just… You’re completely opposites. How does…” You gesture between them vaguely. “ _This_ even work in the first place?”

  


 

 

 

**—**  
  
  
  
  


“Kindaichi!” Iwaizumi calls. “Take five!”

Yuutarou nods, leaving the court to rummage through his bag for a water bottle. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he pauses to observe the team — _his_ team — in action.

  


After all, that match may have been the last they’d play with the senpai, but Aoba Johsai will play Karasuno again next year; and next year, they’ll _win_. Yuutarou’s determined to — they all are. Hence the grueling practice (which Oikawa seemed to take great pleasure in seeing).

  


_But soon, there will be no Oikawa-san_ , Yuutarou thinks wistfully, _and no Iwaizumi-san_. He doesn’t even want to think about the hole they’ll leave behind, instead taking a minute to simply observe them.

  


It’s always been a wonder to him how well Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san get along — a wonder, considering how _different_ the two of them can be. Yuutarou doubts he’ll ever completely understand their dynamic. And just as the thought crosses his mind, he sees them exchanges a smile, speaking a language nobody else can tap into .

  


_Like opposites_ , he finds himself thinking. _Opposites verging together_.

  


Oikawa is silver-tongued and witty, someone who can talk himself out of any situation — he’d gladly insult you to your face and walk away without a care if it came to it. But more than anything, he is the core of the team; the keystone, the commander, a careful wordmaster who could play them like puppets. Oikawa is the captain they can rely on to be serious at exactly the moment he needs to be. 

  


And then there’s Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi, who doesn’t have that same eloquence and expressiveness; who uses actions and silence to speak, be it in the form of a reassuring smile or a pat on the head or a call for a high five. Yet, he holds up the team just as much as the captain.

  


But Yuutarou also remembers that last game, when it was Oikawa’s silence and hand on their ace’s back, when it was Iwaizumi who voiced reassurances — as if he had an innate understanding that his go-to roughness, his usual push and shove and slaps up the head, had a time and a place, and it wasn’t then.

  


_Opposites converging_ , he thinks again. Like they know exactly what the other needs without having to think about it. Not so different after all.

  


Yuutarou wonders if it isn’t thanks to this, if it isn’t because Seijou has the both of them, _together_ , that the team is so strong. Oikawa pulling the team upwards, all intensity and fervor, and Iwaizumi, powerful and composed, pushing from below.

  


He starts out of his thoughts when Oikawa lets out a loud squawk from across the gym. Iwaizumi’s face is murderous as he slaps Oikawa upside the head, and Oikawa’s eyes flash, his retort smart and rude and only serving to infuriate Iwaizumi further. 

  


Yuutarou smiles softly, at the familiar spark of bickering and back-and-forth because _just_ when he was thinking they weren’t so different after all. _Yet another argument, huh?_ He watches Iwaizumi roar at his best friend, the rest of the team laughing, and turns back to his bag with a quietly mumbled, “Never mind.”

  


  
  
  
  
  
**—**  
  
  
  
  


[](http://i.imgur.com/vHwsjQ5.jpg)

 

 

When Aida sees a familiar tuft of brown curls pop up at his store’s display window, he can only smile.

  


The same kid has stopped by for the last three days, never failing to stick his face to the window, his breath clouding on the glass as he gazes longingly at a rack of volleyballs inside. Aida beckoned him to come in before, inviting a closer look, but the boy quickly refused with a shy shake of his head.

  


There’s not much else Aida can do to help his daily visitor, and he sighs, turning away to resume his inspection of the stock inventory.

  


Hardly ten minutes have passed when his focus is interrupted by a commotion outside. Aida barely hesitates before his curiosity gets the better of him and he walks over to investigate.

  


A newcomer has his hands planted on his hips, and a bug net stuck into the back of his shorts. He’s huffing, “So, this is where you’ve been, Tooru! What’s so special about this place?”

  


“Nothing, Hajime-chan!” The other boy — Tooru— juts his lower lip out stubbornly.

  


Hajime sighs. “I promise I won’t laugh, okay?” He reaches for Tooru’s hand, linking their pinkies together. “There, deal!”

  


Immediately, Tooru’s eyes brighten, and he excitedly drags Hajime by the shirt to the window. “Look, look! Those volleyballs are so cool, I wanna get one next time!”

  


Amused as he is by their antics, Aida notes to himself that he needs to wipe the glass clear of their nose smudges later. He’s about to head back when he hears Hajime exclaim in disbelief.

  


“Tooru, you don’t even like playing outdoors—you hate _bugs_ — so why would you want a volleyball?” Hajime squints in confusion. “That’s just gonna waste your money.”

  


Aida has seen, though, the yearning in the kid’s eyes, seen firsthand how desperately he wants to own a volleyball, and he feels that this isn’t a fair assessment of his small visitor at all.

  


Tooru visibly slumps before his face flushes, temper rising. “Just because I don’t like bugs the way you do doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy other stuff outdoors!” He wrinkles his nose and grimaces. “Plus, bugs are weird.”

  


“You take that back right now!” Hajime’s voice rises higher-- and Aida can already predict the ensuing fight because _this isn’t going to end well, is it?_

  


“No way, I won’t!”

  


“Will too!”

  


“I said _not_ —!”

  


Two pairs of hands cross over to pinch the other’s cheeks, stretching them as wide as possible. The time for intervention is ripe more so now than ever and Aida makes quick work of stepping outside to separate them.

  


Hajime glowers from behind Aida’s arm. “You’re always pretending with all these new hobbies, you don’t even mean it!”

  


Tooru rears back, hurt flashing through his expression as he yells, “What’s so bad about that? Sticking to just one thing like you is boring!"

  


With that, he flings himself onto Aida’s leg, clutching his jeans and sniffling. He looks up, eyes watery. “ _Tenin-san_ ,” a wallet is pushed into Aida’s palm, “can I buy a volleyball?”

  


Aida takes it gingerly and counts the money within. But Tooru doesn’t have enough, and Aida’s heart twists when Tooru’s face clouds with disappointment., The kid quickly sticks his tongue out when he realises Hajime’s watching, and runs off.

  


To Aida’s surprise, Hajime comes to him after Tooru leaves. “How much more does he need?”

  


“The ball’s 3590¥. Your friend needs another 1750¥.”

  


Before Aida can think of something more to say, the boy nods and speeds after his friend. 

 

 

The following day, Tooru returns to the glass window, sad and wistful, but not for long. Hajime tentatively joins him soon after, and they whisper furiously between themselves before grinning and hugging. _So they made up so fast, huh?_ Aida smiles softly at them. But he has to wipe it off his face when, quick as anything, they walk in and and nervously slide both their wallets onto the counter. He can’t keep his chuckle to himself as he counts their money. _If only his employees could work together as easily..._

  


“Nice bandages.” Aida taps his cheek, looking between the two grinning boys in front of him before rolling his eyes and gesturing to the volleyball rack. “Go on, then. Pick one you both like.”

 

 

 

**—**  
  
  
  
  


[](http://i.imgur.com/Q14UJya.jpg)

 

 

When Tobio looks to the other side of the net he sees a nearly insurmountable wall as large and as awe-inspiring as the first day he heard of Oikawa Tooru. If he was a daunting figure then, than now, with a few extra years of experience, a few more inches of height, he is downright scary, staring everyone down with an intensity that is unmatched by any other. And by his side, an ace just as monstrous and fierce in Iwaizumi-san.

  


Tobio sees them, and he _wants_.

  


He grits his teeth and looks away, trying to ignore the reflection on the other side of the net, a reflection that is just simply better than the side that he stands on — that is better than him.

  


_King of the Court_. The name echoes in his head mockingly and even if Hinata calls Oikawa-san the Grand King, _he_ is not the king Tobio is. He remembers how even in middle school, he was always surrounded by fans, by his teammates — and Iwaizumi-san too, of course.

  


_With six, the strong are even stronger_ he heard all those years ago. He hadn’t understood it then — perhaps he is only starting to understand it now. But he remembers the way Iwaizumi-san gave his everything when Oikawa-san tossed, how Oikawa-san never stopped trying to improve his toss for Iwaizumi-san, each of them reaching for a higher stage — pushing themselves as well as each other towards it.

  


Whatever, Tobio thinks — or at least wants to think. He can’t, shouldn’t, won’t let the heat of it get to him. He has a team too, and most of all he has Hinata now. And the two of them together are definitely stronger than they are apart.

  


Aobajousai is on their worst rotation for defense, and Karasuno is on their best rotation for offense. Kageyama knows _this_ is the moment he’s been waiting all game for, _this_ is perfect time to draw the sword that he’s kept sheathed for more than half the set, and _this_ is when he will set the ball to his best weapon for the ultimate attack.

  


He sees his team successfully receive the incoming spike from the other side and when the ball comes flying his way, he breathes, calculates, and makes the toss.

  


Through the taught squares of the black-and-white net separating the court, he sees the other team reacts, touching, receiving, setting, spiking — smooth like a well-oiled machine spinning, turning, twisting, cranking. Seamless. Executed perfectly in sync and suddenly the ball is back over the net like a fruit fly on a sticky, hot summer day, swatted away by the skilled hands of Oikawa-san’s team.

  


No — Tobio understands, watching Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san exchange a smile, almost as if there was nobody else in the room — the Grand King certainly doesn’t rule alone.

  


But then again, Tobio smiles, seeing the expectant look on Hinata’s face, neither does The King of the Court anymore. And someday, he thinks, maybe he’ll be able to have something like theirs.

  
  
  
  
  
**—**  
  
  
  
  


[](http://i.imgur.com/y45nhbO.png)

 

“This looks like the last one,” Takahiro says as he pushes open the door of the apartment. Matsukawa grunts from behind a large stack of boxes, wiping his hands down on his jeans. 

  


“Good I have a class in half an hour that I should really get to.” 

  


“Thanks for helping out, Mattsun!” Oikawa sings from further inside the apartment, “Now go to your class, we don’t want you failing and having to drop out and turn to a life of crime, only to end up rotting in a cell after all!” 

  


“Don’t be stupid, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles, coming out to the corridor to grab the box in Takahiro’s arms. He’s frowning, his shoulders a tense line, his footsteps a little too loud as he walks back into the living area.

  


Takahiro exchanges a look with Matsukawa as he says his goodbyes. 

  


He heads towards the living room where most of the boxes are cluttered, stacked in haphazard piles. Takahiro watches as Iwaizumi tries to re-stack the boxes into neater piles, muttering under his breath. Meanwhile, Oikawa is sprawled on the floor rifling through one of them.

  


“Iwa-chan!” he giggles, making Iwaizumi look up at him, “Look I found your middle school photo! What did you even do to your hair back then? You look hideous!”

  


Oikawa grins and holds up the photo to show them. Iwaizumi, however, doesn't look pleased.

  


_Uh-oh_ , Takahiro thinks.

  


“For fuck’s sake, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi growls, turning away from Oikawa, “Can you stop messing around? Do you have any idea the amount of stuff we need to sort out here? We ha—”

  


“Iwa-chan~” Oikawa cuts him off. He drapes himself over Iwaizumi, arms circling around him, restricting movement. “If you frown any more, you’re going to get wrinkles! I marked the boxed that had our necessities in them, so we can unpack them first and figure out the rest later. We don’t have to get everything done today, we have time.” 

  


“Oh,” Iwaizumi bites his lip, looking a little embarrassed about his outburst. 

  


“Yup! So stop worrying so much and just relax a little Iwa-chan,” Oikawa beams, “it’s not every day you move into a new apartment with the great Oikawa-san after all.”

  


“Yeah,” Iwaizumi sighs, rolling his eyes fondly, “Okay”. He closes his eyes and leans into Oikawa where — Takahiro can see, Oikawa’s hands are running small circles on his hips. It’s almost heartwarming how domestic they are already are, the way they gravitate towards each other like two magnetic fields feeding into and supporting each other. _But then again_ , Takahiro notes, _they're also sickening_. And if Oikawa’s hands go any lower, he's going to puke. 

  


“Alright, that's enough you two,” Takahiro groans, “And here I'd thought I'd never have to see you guys being gross again after high school.” 

  


Oikawa ignores him while Iwaizumi raises his hand to flip him off. 

  


Still, Takahiro wonders as he reaches into the cardboard box for something he can throw at the two of them. Seeing them now starting a new life together, they look like they were always meant to end up here. Inevitable as if the two of them were written into nature itself — the push and pull of the gentle tide, the steady rhythm of the ocean, as two stars align.

  
  
  
  
  
**—**  
  
  
  
  


The baby boy is born with a healthy set of lungs, wailing heartily for his parents as soon as he’s out. Saitou Mai wraps him up in some fresh towels and heads over to the exhausted woman, Iwaizumi-san she reminds herself, in the bed.

“Iwaizumi-san,” she says, “he’s a healthy baby boy.”

  


The woman smiles, radiant, and this, Mai thinks, is why she works this job with it’s long, punishing hours — it's worth it for the looks of sheer joy on their faces.

  


“He’s got all ten fingers and toes,” the woman says, voice hoarse but filled with wonder. She looks up briefly at Mai, before looking back at the baby, as if unable to keep her eyes off him.

  


“Thank you,” she says, her husband echoing her.

  


Mai smiles, “I’ll give you all a moment alone”. She leaves the room, closing the door gently behind her.

  


Spotting her, the couple in the waiting room jumps to their feet and heads towards her. Mais remebers the woman to have come in with Iwaizumi-san. She moves towards Mai fairly quickly, for a woman as heavily pregnant as she is.

  


“Nurse!” she cries, her hands clutched together, “How is she? Is she okay? Is the baby—”

  


“She’s okay,” Mai assures, cutting through her barrage of questions, “and so is the baby. A healthy baby boy.”

  


“Oh.” The woman slumps against her husband in relief.“Thank goodness.”

  


He smiles at her, eyes gentle. “I always said you worry too much, dear.”

  


“How about you take a seat—?”

  


“Oikawa,” the woman says, “Can we see them please?”

  


“Just let me take this to the front desk, Oikawa-san,” Mai promises, “and I’ll come back and take you two in to see them.” The woman thanks her profusely and takes the offered seat, her husband settling down beside her smiling bemusedly.

  


_How lovely_ , Mai thinks to herself as she walks away. Two such lovely couples and such close friends too — with even the good fortune of going through their pregnancies together. She smiles softly to herself. _How lovely it would be if they could always remain this close_.

 

 

The next time Mai sees the two women, it’s only about a month later and this time it’s Oikawa-san in the delivery room welcoming a new addition to the family while Iwaizumi-san sits in the waiting room, baby in her arms.

  


“Say hello to Mai-san, Hajime-chan,” Iwaizumi-san coos, smiling warmly.

  


Mai smiles back, watching as Hajime curls his hands into little fists. “You can go in to see them now, Iwaizumi-san,” Mai says, and the other woman gets up quickly to follow her to the other room.

  


Oikawa-san is lying in the bed, tired but smiling, cradling the newborn to her chest. Iwaizumi-san immediately joins her at her bedside, leaning over to admire the newborn.

  


“Oh look at him,” she whispers. “He's beautiful. Have you decided on a name yet?”

  


“I was thinking,” Oikawa-san's voice is soft, “‘Hajime’ means _for the first time_ or _beginning right_? So, how about the name ‘Tooru’?”

  


“Tooru,” Iwaizumi-san echoes. “As in the ‘Tooru’ from ‘accomplishment’?”

  


“Yes. _To pierce through_ or _to see through until the end._ ” The two women beam at each other, smiles knowing. 

  


“It sounds wonderful,” Iwaizumi-san says.

  


“Ah, how lovely!” Mai claps her hands together. “So, Tooru-kun will be the opposite of Hajime-kun?”

  


“Yes!” Oikawa-san laughs, “Or perhaps, they’ll be a matching pair? Who knows!”

  


_Who knows indeed_ , Mai thinks, smiling, basking in the happiness of the pair of new mothers. Somehow though, Mai has a feeling that no matter what happens, these two families — these two baby boys — will always be together.

  
  
  
  
  
**—**  
  
  
  
  


Oikawa shrugs, smirk back in place. “Perhaps you could say it was fate. Destiny. Divine—”

Iwaizumi’s derisive snort shows what he thinks of that, though, and teasing laughter pokes at Oikawa, who’s turned to pout at his boyfriend, his own grin barely concealed.

  


Through a mouthful of yakiniku, Iwaizumi hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know…” He glances across at Oikawa, who’s taken to burrowing under Iwaizumi’s arm in an attempt to make it look like the latter’s arm is slung around his shoulder. “But someone’s gotta take care of this loser.”

  


Oikawa squawks, affronted, and Iwaizumi ignores it with a sharp crooked grin. You follow his lead; the question is all but dropped.

  


But later, after dinner when you’re bidding them goodnight, Iwaizumi takes you aside.

  


“We work together,” he murmurs with a thoughtful frown. “You got me thinking, because I’ve never actually asked before, you know? About why. That’s never been a question for me, not when we were kids or in high school or even back when we got scouted. Asking why Tooru was there would be asking like why I was.” His grin is bashful and rueful and you envy it, you envy what they have, and _admire_ it. “He sort of fills in my gaps, but he’s the same as me too. You get me?”

  


You laugh. “Not at all, man.”

  


“Iwa-chan, come on!” Oikawa calls, already walking away, and Iwaizumi gives you a hasty back-pat before running after him, shouting something rude and smirking all the while.

  


They lace their fingers together without looking down, and you watch their retreating forms, two silhouettes against the burnt orange sun setting low against the city, slowly blurring into one the further they go. The sight harks back to how they looked in their games, two imposing figures cutting their own way through the volleyball court, blending seamlessly together like the rising sun on their backs, an endless circle. 

  


Opposites and alike. Two parts of one. Where one goes, the other is — connected by a toss on the court or a private grin or the joke and its punchline. Utterly without rhyme or reason, yet perfectly separate and whole.

  


Their laughter echoes down the street.

  


And you wonder.

 

 

 

 

[](http://i.imgur.com/Fs0UZCr.png)

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
